Suns Are Halos

I might drive in my little blue car to Vancouver. The forests and the rain and the thin smoky mist would feel like home.

Or maybe Nova Scotia, the harsh soil and the grey Atlantic where the mermaids shed their tears.

Just start new somewhere where I am stranger, and I can be brave and holy and bright again.

Someplace by the sea, where the ancient mermaids sing in the night, tantalizing voices in the dark.

Someplace where I can see them past the breakers in the morning, the weak January suns still giving them halos.

Someplace where I can be something more than I’ve been, where day they’ll come to shore and touch my face.

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